Samantha James (9 page)

“That’s it. The one with the slim, elegant lines. That’s the one I want.”

Fionna looked up in surprise.

Aidan stood less than an arm’s length away. Lost in her musing, she hadn’t heard his approach.

Mr. Francis stood just behind him, beaming. “A classic piece, wouldn’t you say? Classic and lovely…”

“Aye,” said Aidan.

It wasn’t the clock he was staring at, she realized in shock. It was her. And hearing that low vibration in his tone…seeing him, an unmistakable thrill shot through her. And…just for an instant…it was as if the world ceased to turn.

Neither of them appeared to hear Mr. Francis going on. “An excellent choice, my lord. Solid English oak, through and through. Very fluid, very elegant, simple, lovely lines.”

Fionna’s heart clamored hard in her throat. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak, even if she’d wanted to.

“And your lady, sir? Does she approve?”

Aidan reached for her hand. He brought her gloved fingertips to his lips.

“She adores it, don’t you, my sweet?”

Fionna’s eyes rounded with shock. It was clear
Mr. Francis believed they were wed. “I…I…” was all she could manage.

“I believe,” Aidan said with laughter brimming in his tone, “the lady is quite speechless with delight.”

Moments later, Fionna was off admiring a beautiful mantel clock while Aidan handed Mr. Francis his card and completed the transaction.

When he was finished, he stepped near. “Another?” he whispered in her ear. “For my bedroom, perhaps.”

Fionna bit her lip, struggling not to laugh. What a rogue! And he made no secret of it, which somehow made her laugh. Once they emerged onto the street, she couldn’t hold back. “That was quite wretched of you to let him think I was your wife! What if I’d said I adored that ghastly gold horror in the corner?”

“Then I should have been obliged to buy the most ghastly, horrid clock in all London.”

Crossing the cobbled street, she slipped a little on a patch of frost that covered the uneven surface. Lightly he cupped her elbow, bringing her upright. Even through the smooth kid of his gloves, the layers of cloak and gown, it was as if he laid his hand on her bare skin. The feel of him was stimulating in ways she’d never imagined. Oh, and it made no sense, but…even while those very thoughts were stimulating to her imagination with regard to Raven and Rowan, she was very much afraid those very same thoughts of
him might waylay her creativity as surely as the man himself. He was altogether too handsome. Altogether too distracting.

As if to remind her, heat flashed through her.

“Are you overly warm, Fionna?”

“No,” she said quickly. “Why do you ask?”

“Your cheeks are quite flushed.”

And no wonder. Heat radiated from her face. Her entire body, despite the frigid temperatures.

“I rather expect it’s the cold.” She knew she flushed even more, and sought to focus on the lamppost towering on the street corner. She had no idea her pace had quickened.

Aidan had no trouble keeping up with her stride. But at the corner he stepped in front of her. Fionna had to stop abruptly else plow directly into his chest.

“Well, then, perhaps you’re in need of some tea.” He gestured to the doorway beside them. “I know I am.”

“Tea?” He stood so close, too close. Fionna swallowed with difficulty. “Tea sounds just the thing,” she said hastily.

Moments later they were installed at a table near the stove in the corner. Aidan’s knee bumped hers as he shifted his chair a little. It spun through her mind he was too big for it.

And he was still altogether too close for her peace of mind.

Fionna ignored him, glancing toward the window. Sunlight sparkled through the frost, spin
ning in a whirl of color. Very deliberately, she shifted her thoughts away from this wretchedly handsome man to
Demon of Dartmoor
. To the scene she planned to write later. Dartmoor’s demon had stalked Raven to a small, abandoned house, while Rowan had stalked him, stealing inside to find Raven. The details of the chase eluded her, but she could fill those in later.

And now a new thought took hold. The pair would manage to elude the creature, but to do so, they would need to duck into a tiny closet. She envisioned it in her mind, conscious of the feelings building inside Raven. Fionna could feel the budding heat of awareness that pulsed through Raven, as Fionna pictured her pinned between Rowan’s thighs, shrinking back against him, for she had no choice. And Rowan’s arm lay banded about her waist, as if to protect her. As if to draw her closer still…

Aidan sighed.

“Are you angry, Fionna?”

“No. Of course not.”

“You’ve barely said a word since we left the shop. Do I bore you?”

Fionna blinked. “What! Of course you don’t. Why ever would you ask such a thing?”

His gaze was direct. “Well, I thought we were having quite a lovely afternoon. But before we came inside, I almost had the feeling you were trying to get away.”

Running away was more like it.

“That’s ridiculous! You do not bore me. And I am having a lovely afternoon.”

He slowly stirred a lump of sugar into his tea. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Then why did you have that distant look in your eyes a moment ago? Your expression was quite pensive. As if you were far, far away.” He laid his spoon on the saucer. He took a sip of tea, then lowered the cup again. All the while his gaze held hers. “It’s not particularly flattering, you know.” A gleam had appeared in those vivid blue eyes.

Fionna’s heart clamored. “Well, I was thinking.”

“Of?”

“Of…a rather novel idea,” she said weakly.

“Ah. And can you share this rather novel idea?”

Mercy, if he only knew. “Not at present.” Pasting on a smile, she changed the subject.

If he noticed anything amiss, he said nothing. An amicable silence drifted between them as they started toward home a short while later. A splinter of afternoon sunlight wavered across the street.

Across from Hyde Park, a Gypsy woman sat inside a curtained stall, her face scored by lines and the texture of leather. When she spied them, she turned and offered a sly smile.

The old woman beckoned, stretching out a bony, veined hand, gleaming with rings, brace
lets dangling on both arms. She wore gaudy red and yellow clothing, her hair covered with an equally bright scarf.

“Mistress! Gent!” she called, her voice rough and thickly accented. “Lend me your palm! Allow a poor woman to tell yer fortune.”

Even before the old woman spoke, Fionna’s step had slowed ever so little. Fionna cast her a look from the corner of her eye. She’d been thinking of using a Gypsy in her next book,
The Scourge of Scotland
.

Aidan had noticed as well. Fionna glanced at Aidan, her eyes full of mirth. He gave a slight nod, then flipped the woman a coin.

The Gypsy caught it, bit it, then grinned at him, revealing a gummy, wide gap where her upper front tooth should have been.

“Sit, mistress. Sit.” With a dramatic whirl of brightly colored red skirts and noisy jangle of bracelets, she made a grand gesture and indicated the table before her.

Aidan held the seat out for Fionna. Unable to smother a smile, Fionna glanced at the woman.

“Your hand, lady. Let me see your hand.”

Fionna uncurled her fingers. The woman pored over it for a long time, tracing the lines with rough fingertips. She studied Fionna’s face for a moment.

“You have not lived in the city long, have you, my dear?”

“I should say I have lived here quite some time,” Fionna said lightly.

The Gypsy threw back her head and gave a cackling laugh—as if she knew Fionna was lying.

The woman ran a finger over the lines of her wrist. “You are alone in this world, no?”

Fionna raised a brow, neither confirming nor denying it. This, she knew, was how they worked. Drawing bits and pieces from their patrons, dispensing vague notions yet molding it that it might fit any number of people. Gleaning reactions, reading expressions in order to twist it to their advantage.

“Ah, yes,” the Gypsy said almost slyly. “A pity a beauty such as you should be so alone in this world.”

“Oh, come,” Aidan interjected. “As you can see she is hardly alone.”

The Gypsy ignored him. Her eyes gleamed as she raised her head to regard Fionna. Then she returned to studying her palm. She made great pretense of studying it as if she could see every mystery of the world written there.

It was all a game, Fionna knew.

“I see that you were very happy as a child, mistress.”

True. But Fionna was aware that the woman had already assessed her clothing, her demeanor—and probably Aidan’s as well. Clearly she had not grown up in poverty, so it was an easy deduction
that yes, her childhood had been one of contentment.

“I should imagine many are,” she murmured. “And just as many are not.”

“You were,” said the Gypsy with such emphasis that Fionna was taken a little aback. Black eyes narrowed. “But much has changed since then, lady, for you harbor a great secret.”

Good God! Somehow Fionna maintained her smile.

The woman closed her eyes, swayed. Her eyes opened, black and fathomless. She peered up at Fionna once more. “I believe you will not always be alone. You have the chance at great happiness once more, mistress. But your journey will not be easy. Many trials await you. I see…much heartache. You must take care lest happiness elude you forever.”

The old woman shook her head. She bent low, so low that Fionna felt the rush of breath on her skin.

“Guard yourself,” the gypsy said suddenly. Sharply. “Someone near you is cursed. For all eternity. Guard your heart—and guard your life, for evil awaits you.” Her gaze encompassed Aidan, narrowed, then she appeared to dismiss him. Black eyes returned to Fionna; the Gypsy regarded her intently. “I sense danger,” she warned. “I sense darkness. Yes, darkness follows you—danger awaits you!”

Despite herself, Fionna gave a little jerk. She
could not help it. Her mind veered straight to those nights when she had felt as if she was being followed.

Her smile froze, even as Fionna chided herself. What was this? She’d written of things far more graphic. Her characters were exposed to things that were far more frightening than a…a woman who pretended at seeing what mysteries lay in the future.

“I—”

She was allowed no chance to continue.

Gnarled, bony fingers clutched hers. Her voice was a raspy whisper. Fionna sought to drag her hand away. The old woman’s nails dug into her palm.

“You must heed me, mistress! Heed me lest danger consume you!”

Fionna struggled to rise. Still the Gypsy refused to release her.

Aidan stepped close. “Enough!” he told the old woman sharply. A hand in Fionna’s elbow, he tugged her to her feet. Together they began to walk away.

The Gypsy’s voice followed. “Hear me, lady!” she called shrilly. “Beware! Beware the dark! Beware the night!”

Fionna’s heart was pounding, hard and almost painfully. Her mind was screaming. How could the Gypsy know? How? Had she somehow divulged the feeling of sometimes being plagued? Aidan hadn’t noticed—and there was an observant man—so how had the Gypsy? Unaware of it, her pace quickened until she was almost running. The cold, frozen air seemed to burn her lungs.

Beware the dark. Beware the night.

At the corner, Aidan caught her and whirled her around. “Fionna! Don’t be frightened. There’s nothing to it. She’s just an old woman; it’s all in fun. Nothing she says will come true. Nothing she says is real.”

“Of course it’s not. I’m not frightened.” Brave words, breathless words. It wasn’t so much that she sought to assure him but herself. She didn’t believe in such nonsense. It made no sense, yet she had the eerie sensation the woman had seen something.

“I think I should like to go home now.” To her horror, her voice wasn’t as steady as she wished.

“Of course.”

She shivered. From the cold, she told herself when they arrived at her apartment. He helped her out of her cloak and stripped off his greatcoat. Fionna didn’t stop him. She was secretly glad of Aidan’s presence, not that she needed a man to watch over her. It was rather like Raven and Rowan, she decided vaguely…it wasn’t so much that Raven was always in need of a rescuer, but Rowan was usually there should the need arise.

And now Aidan was here. With her. Here when she had no one else.

He caught both of her hands in his, then swore. “Your skin is like ice!”

“I forgot my gloves.”

Aidan scooped coal into the fire, then guided her onto the overstuffed chair nearest the stove.
Dropping to one knee, he rubbed her hands between his. Fionna was aware of him searching her features.

She struggled to summon a smile. “I’m sorry. I played the fool rather brilliantly, didn’t I? How silly of me.”

“Not so silly,” he said grimly. “But how the devil does she expect to make her living telling fortunes when she frightens everyone half to death?”

Fionna said nothing. The Gypsy had been right about so many things. Her childhood was a happy one. She was new to London—well, at least fairly new. She was alone. Of course there was Mama, but, in all honesty, until Mama was well, she was alone.

If Mama was ever well again, whispered a niggling little voice that she hated. No, she thought. No. She had to believe that someday Mama would be better.

Despite herself, she shivered. She knew Aidan was aware of it when he delivered a firm admonishment. “Do not dwell on the old witch, Fionna. Darkness? Danger? And beware the night?” He made a scoffing sound. “My God, I’ve never heard such nonsense—”

All at once he broke off. His regard narrowed.

Beneath thick, black brows, his eyes were unwavering. Blue as sapphires. But most of all, unsettling in a way that made her want to long to throw up an invisible shield between them.
It was as if he saw everything inside her, everything she hid.

“Fionna,” he said again, his tone utterly calm. “Is there something I should know?”

“Of course not!”

A most lengthy silence. A most lengthy stare. Then he asked, “Did you walk alone last night?”

“No,” she said quickly. It was true. She hadn’t walked. Not last night.

His lips compressed impatiently. “It will do no good to lie to me, Fionna.”

Her jaw thrust out. “Do you accuse me of being a liar? How dare you, my lord!”

And how childish that sounded. But if she was defensive, she assured herself, it was because she resented his intrusion.

He remained quiet, so long she fought the urge to squirm and fidget. Then he said softly, “You begin to frighten me.”

“What…why?” She was genuinely puzzled.

“These nocturnal sojourns of yours. This business about it calming you, your way of ending the day…I dislike it.”

Fionna’s chin came up. “I do what I wish. I go where I wish, when I wish. It is my custom to walk—”

“It was your custom.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I don’t think it’s wise to continue it.”

“I don’t recall asking you, sir!” Who the devil did he think he was? Her temper was about to boil
over. “And when I walk, I prefer to walk alone,” she stressed. “That is precisely the point.”

He appeared totally unimpressed.

Fionna took a breath. “I am six-and-twenty, my lord. I have been responsible for myself for a number of years now.”

He studied her. “You take offense. You think I interfere where I should not?”

“I do.”

“You consider yourself an independent woman then.”

Her mouth drew into a thin, straight line. “Call it what you will. As for you, sir, well, you may call yourself protector of the Crown, protector of the Empire. But I am in no need of a protector, either you or otherwise.”

He tipped his head to the side, his gaze never leaving hers. “Why,” he said softly, “do I have the feeling there is something you are not telling me?”

“You have no right to question me, Aidan,” she said flatly. “And may I remind you we’ve known each other but a short time. Why should you be privy to my every thought?”

“Why indeed,” he murmured. “Nonetheless, I dislike the idea of leaving you alone tonight when you are so distressed. Is there someone you could stay with? A relative, perhaps?”

“There’s no need.” She was adamant. “Yes, I was thrown a bit out of kilter by the Gypsy, but I am fine. It was silly to react the way I did, so
no need to worry. Now, may I show you to the door?”

He was tempted to argue; she saw it in the flash of those incredibly blue eyes. Instead, he got slowly to his feet, retrieved his greatcoat, and shrugged it on. “Very well then. Escort me to the door if you wish.”

Manners dictated precisely that. A polite farewell hovered on her lips. But before she could issue a word, he turned suddenly.

The entrance hall was small. To her dismay, she found herself squarely between Aidan, the wall at her back and side, the stairs on the other side.

Trapped, as surely as if she’d been caught in a snare—his snare.

He did not gloat—she’d have surely slapped his cheek if he did! Instead, he smiled slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. Very deliberately, he took her chin between thumb and forefinger.

“I ought to take you home with me,” he said almost lazily.

“That should give Mrs. Chalmers a great deal to talk about.” Rats! The declaration was not entirely steady. Did he hear it? Fionna held her breath and waited.

“Then I’ve half a mind to stay here.”

“That,” she said breathlessly, “should give Mrs. Chalmers even more to talk about!”

“At least then I should be sure you don’t go out tonight.”

Fionna’s temper flared. Her lips compressed. Aidan directed his eyes heavenward, as if indeed he prayed for patience.

“Very well then. I think I shall post a man outside this door.”

“I shall send him away!”

His eyes probed into hers, his intent clear. “Then I’ll send another. As many as it takes.”

He did not jest.

“Very well then. I-I shall not leave home tonight.”

He smiled. “Excellent choice, sweet.”

“Pray desist from calling me that!”

“Why, my love?”

Lord, but he was maddening. “You know very well why!”

“Ah,” he almost purred. “Darling, then.”

“Only a rake would dispense such endearments so often—and in a manner no less than cavalier!”

“I am not cavalier, I assure you.”

Fionna expelled a breath of sheer frustration. “You think you know me, Aidan. But you don’t.”

“I know all I need to know.” If it was a rash declaration, she could have laughed. She could have played along. As it was, the expression she glimpsed on his face…Playful, she might have called it were it not for the simmering light burning in his gaze.

Her jaw thrust out. “This is just a game to you, isn’t it?”

“A game? Hardly. I know what I want, Fionna.”

He eased closer, shifting so that his coat brushed the thrust of her breasts. His touch was not accidental, she realized. His nearness was not accidental. “Shall I tell you what I want, Fionna?”

Fionna longed to bolt up the stairs.

Alas, he made it impossible. And—oh, mother of God—a tingle of excitement shot through her. A tingle of anticipation. For what, she wasn’t sure…

She licked her lips. What to do…what to do?

His gaze had drifted to her mouth. He stood very still. “I want you, Fionna Hawkes,” he said very deliberately. “And by heaven, I will have you.”

Fionna was stunned. His eyes glittered with purpose. His air was bold-as-can-be. This was no flirtation. Gone was the engaging, jaunty stranger who had sauntered into her shop the day after they met. This was an outright declaration of…of a conqueror!

“Just like that?” she said faintly.

“Just like that.”

Logical thought was a process that suddenly proved almost impossible. “We are strangers, Aidan. Truly we are.”

“We were never strangers, Fionna. Not even from the first. I know all I need to know. And I would know far more if you would let me close.”

“You are close!”

“You’re well aware what I mean.”

His look was censure itself. Damn him, she thought in icy fury. Damn him for making her feel guilty when she had no reason to!

She quashed it down. The breath she drew was uneven. “Do not toy with me, Aidan.”

“I do not toy with you, nor will I tarry. I said I am not a man for games, Fionna. Rules, yes. Games, no. So perhaps it’s time I made myself clear.”

His gaze fixed intently on her mouth, pinning her. Without words. Without touch. All at once she was neither furious nor cold. Instead, he was melting her inside.

Her mouth went dry. He did that to her. A mere man. A mere look. She flattened her spine against the paneled wall, as if he could not reach her there. She fought to maintain her distance from him, both physically and emotionally. Now her back was literally against the wall.

She made a faint sound. “Please do not do this.” Her tone was very low. “Do not—”

“What? Kiss you again?”

Already his head was lowering, his mouth so close their breath mingled, his and hers…together. As if they were one…

Hers caught, then became ragged. She made a small sound, almost a whimper.

“Shh, it’s all right. No touching. Only kissing.”

“Kissing? What is this? Aidan’s Rules again?”

His lips were against hers now, molding and warm and coaxing. His kiss was long and leisurely and made her insides melt to butter. She reveled in the texture and heat and pressure of his mouth. His mouth was warm, his lips softer than she had realized before. She sensed his absolute control—she envied him his control!—along with his restraint. Yet she could also feel his slight smile as he ended the kiss.

“I won’t have you say I’m a bounder,” he whispered. “Remember…kissing only. No touching. My mouth against yours. Yours against mine. And the next time, the next time, sweet…touching only.”

He kissed her again. And indeed they touched nowhere but their lips. Sensation exploded inside her. Everywhere. Yes, everywhere. It was as if he touched her all over. Her nipples, tingling as if he stroked them. Between her thighs, warm as if he stroked there. She would have blushed—but it felt so good. It felt too good. That it seemed almost forbidden was the last thought in her mind.

“Perfect, Fionna. Yes, right there. I can feel the tip of your tongue pressed there, at the corner of my mouth. Shall you see for yourself? Here, let me show you.”

She didn’t possess the restraint he did. She couldn’t help it. Her hands moved of their own volition. She lifted them to twine around his neck.

He stopped her with a sound deep in his throat. “No, love,” he reminded her. “Not yet. The next time, I promise. The next time…”

“No, Aidan.” She tried to sound stern. To stand firm. “There will not be a next time.”

“Hush, Fionna. Hush.”

She opened her mouth, but his was already there. She knew what he was doing. Making her want…this. Making her want him.

And she did. God help her, she did.

On and on he kissed her, turning his mouth this way and that, his tongue twining with hers, long and deep. Then drawing back, his mouth almost flirting with hers.

From the moment they’d met, she thought vaguely, he made her feel quite irrational. Not only that, she was acting irrationally.

Fionna Hawkes would never have spent half the night in a man’s arms, a man she barely knew. Fionna Hawkes would never have allowed that man to kiss her. Not once. Not twice. Not thrice. And certainly not like this.

To her shock, she still fought the urge to grab his head and keep his mouth welded to hers. The only way she could stop herself from flattening her entire body to his was to flatten her palms against the wall at her back. Indeed, she was almost clawing the wall. That alone prevented her fingers from burrowing into the dark hair that grew on his nape.

When she was with him, she felt giddy. Inun
dated. Filled with everything about him. The warm scent of him. His size. The width of his chest. It was as if he’d invaded every part of her. Her senses, her emotions, her heart.

She was half-mad with need when at last he released her mouth.

Fionna opened her eyes. “Aidan,” she said when she was able to catch her breath. “I mean it. This is the last time I will allow you to—”

Her reprimand was cut short by the feel of his finger trailing a path down her jaw. She might as well have never spoken.

“Sleep well, Fionna. And lock the door.”

Fionna stood mutely while he let himself out. The instant the door was closed, she turned the lock. Still in a daze, she mounted the stairs.

Upstairs in her parlor, she pushed aside the curtain and watched him walk down the street. She leaned her forehead against the freezing pane, hoping it would cool the heat raging inside her, praying it would end the twisting, aching need still climbing within her.

For Fionna recognized it for what it was. She could deny it no longer.

It was desire. Reckless. Foolish.

For that’s exactly what she was. A fool. A fool to wish for something that could never be.